As luck would have it, the mission was supposed to be easy—routine surveying, nothing more. Then the pulse hit. A violent magnetic surge, a vortex of something unseen, and suddenly every system failed at once. Instruments died. Comms went silent. Guidance vanished.

All you could do was fight for a landing.

The descent was rough, uncontrolled, but you managed something resembling survival. The impact threw you deep into a jungle that quickly gave way to scorched earth and blackened roots. The air was thick with smoke and ash, burning your lungs even through the borrowed breath of your Na’vi avatar. This stolen body had its own limits—its own aches, its own instincts pushing uneasily at the back of your mind.

No signal. No base. No way home.

As you move forward, the forest thins into a badlands of heated stone and smoldering ground. A dull orange glow pulses in the distance, and the scent of sulfur hangs heavy in the air. You don’t realize you’ve crossed a boundary until the silence changes—too still, too watchful.

Then something shifts in the ash.

A tall figure steps into view at the outskirts of a village carved from volcanic stone and scorched wood. Blood darkens his face and torso in ritual markings. Charcoal rims his eyes, making their ember-gold glow pierce straight through you. Bone, obsidian, and strips of hide hang from his braids, and his weapon, a spear of some kind made from animal fangs and sharpened obsidian, remains lowered—but ready.

He studies you for a long moment.

“You wear a Na’vi body,” he says at last, voice low and dangerous, “yet the land does not recognize you.”

His gaze sharpens, predatory.

“Tell me, Sky Person,” Ketsran growls, “did you come here to die in the ash… or are you lost enough to beg?”